


A Lady’s Lapdog

by kitkatkaylie



Series: A Lady and her Dog [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV), a song of
Genre: Abuse, Gen, Manipulative Sansa Stark, Master/Pet, Minor Ramsay Bolton/Sansa Stark, Ramsay Bolton is His Own Warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:22:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26202613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitkatkaylie/pseuds/kitkatkaylie
Summary: Sansa’s husband promised her a dog for a wedding gift, any dog from the kennels that she liked. And Sansa knew exactly which one she wanted...
Relationships: Theon Greyjoy & Sansa Stark
Series: A Lady and her Dog [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2067540
Comments: 2
Kudos: 39





	A Lady’s Lapdog

The sight of Theon in the kennels shook Sansa, not only that he was there but that it had taken so long for her to recognise him. The boy she had known had always had a smile on his face, a jape upon his lips, and a handsome laugh to go with his handsome features. The man before her had none of that. 

His face was thin and sharp, the skin almost pasted on his skull making his features grotesque in the dim light of the kennels. His once thick curls had become brittle and thin, and their once rich colour had become faded to a dull, dusty shade. 

Sansa swallowed harshly, the only sign she was affected by the sight of the man who had once been her brother’s best friend. She would not give Ramsay’s whore the satisfaction.

“Theon.” She said coldly, “I had wondered what had happened to the man who had been responsible for the first betrayal Robb suffered.”

Theon whimpered and whined, sounding more a dog than a man. 

Sansa turned from him to the kennel girl, her expression as haughty as any Cersei Lannister had worn.

“Have a bath brought up to my chamber. I fear the stench of the kennels and betrayal may have touched my skin.”

The girl met her eyes for a moment longer than proper, but she did drop into a clumsy curtesy.

“Yes, milady.”

Sansa needed the time to herself, she had a rescue to plan. 

* * *

“I could not help but admire your dogs earlier.” She said softly over dinner, thinking of how she had used to convince Joffrey to do things, “They are fine beasts.”

Her husband to be startled at that, as though he had expected her to be scared of the snapping, snarling creatures he kept. Everyone always forgot that Sansa was a Direwolf, and wolves were not scared of dogs.

“Do you like dogs, Lady Sansa?” Lady Walda asked eagerly, “My Roose gifted me one, although my little Essie is nowhere near as scary as Ramsay’s girls.”

“I do like dogs Lady Walda, my siblings and I all had wolves of our own.” Sansa bared her teeth at the Boltons in what they would assume was a smile, “Mine was taken from me though years ago, I do miss my sweet Lady.”

“Oh no!” Lady Walda clapped her hands over her mouth, “How sad! I can hardly think of life without my sweet girl. Maybe Ramsay will gift you a dog for a wedding.”

Every eye in the room turned to Ramsay expectantly, and Sansa could have kissed Lady Walda for making the suggestion for her. The Lady has just cut down Sansa’s attempt to manipulate her husband by at least an hour. 

“Well,” Ramsay swallowed and out on what he likely thought was a charming smile, “I don’t see why not, mother. A dog would not be a difficult wedding gift to procure, and once you have one then you will be able to join me in a hunt perhaps.”

There was a note of danger in his voice, a note of anger, but Sansa ignored it for the time being, she could always use his hate for his stepmother later. 

“That is most kind of you, my lord.” Sansa simpered, “But I fear that the hound you might chose for me will be too fierce. My direwolf after all was named ‘Lady’ and she was tame as any pampered lap dog.” 

Ramsay’s face creased with irritation but his smile stayed lasted on, “Well then, my lady, the best way is surely for you to chose the hound yourself.” 

Sansa had him. She did not let the victory show on her face though. 

“Do I have you word, my lord?” She asked, looking up at him playfully under her eyelashes.

“You do. Any dog in the kennels is yours should you so chose it.” 

Sansa thanked Ramsay prettily, award of the cold eyes of Roose Bolton upon her. He suspected her, she knew, suspected her motive for bringing up such a thing during a shared meal, but Sansa did not care. He needed her name and blood and claim to Winterfell, no Roose Bolton would not dare move against her. 

* * *

The room was as warm as it would ever be in the last days of autumn. With a fire burning merrily in the grate and the pipes in the walls piping hot water to warm them it was almost pleasant. It likely would have been pleasant if not for the company, Sansa despised her husband, his cruel smirk and evil ways hidden beneath a thin veneer of courtesy before the woman who was married to his father. Lady Walda’s presence was likely the only reason there was some form of civility in play, as she sat near Sansa asking every so often how she achieved an effect with her stitching. 

A fat fluffy lap dog lay at the lady’s feet, and although it would be ungracious to think so Sansa could not help but compare the dog to its mistress. 

She absently wondered what people thought when they saw her with her own lapdog, who even now was shivering in the corner, a jug of wine held in his hands.

“Reek, come here.” Sansa pointed to the ground by her feet, she was close to the fire and so it would be an excuse for him to also warm himself.

It would not do for her to appear too kind to her pet after all, especially when she knew that her husband still begrudged her his gift.

Theon hobbled over time her and sank to his knees by her feet, he knew what she wanted by now, knew she would be kinder than the others.

Sansa rested a hand upon his hair, still brittle and discoloured but far cleaner than before he had come under her care.

“Good boy.” She praised, and felt as he shivered under her hand.

Ramsay looked like he had bitten into a rotting apple, his face puckered in disgust. 

She could feel Theon start to relax into her, could feel as he started to sink down, and carefully she lowered his head so it was cushioned on her lap.

“There’s a good boy.” She crooned, “You stay right there for me.”

The harsh sound of a chair scraping against the flagstones filled the air, but Sansa only met her husband’s angry face cooly. He could not hurt her here, not in public before his father and stepmother. 

And while he might hurt her later, in the privacy of their chambers, he could not permanently hurt her, nor would he break her for as long as she had Theon to care for. 

“You will spoil him, my dear wife. Dogs lose their usefulness when spoilt.” Ramsay sneered, spittle flying in his disgust.

“I think not.” Sansa refuted calmly, “Not when the dog’s purpose is to offer companionship. Then the only way to spoil them is to encourage poor socialisation and bloodthirstiness.”

She curled her lips back from her teeth in the parody of a smile. 

“You would know about that though, wouldn’t you husband? About what happens to a creature when it is not socialised properly and it’s bloodthirsty habits are encouraged.”

She would pay for that insult later, she knew that, but it was oh so satisfying to see the way her husband’s face turning crimson with anger.

He stalked out of the room, not looking back, leaving Sansa alone with Walda and Theon.

Sansa petted Theon’s head again, smoothing his hair until she felt him sink into sleep. She smiled at Walda, her teeth now hidden, but the lady lowered her gaze seemingly unable to meet Sansa’s own.

No matter, Sansa had the smallfolk on her side and Theon, what else could she possibly need?

* * *

“You think you are so clever, little wife.” Ramsay spat at her, “Stealing my Reek from me.”

Sansa gazed at him placidly, knowing how much he despised such a look, despite the hand he had wrapped around her forearm, his nails digging in painfully. “You gave him to me. You said I could chose any dog in the kennels, and you yourself describedhim as a dog to me while he sat in the kennels. My choice was fully within the terms of our arrangement, my dear husband.”

Ramsay’s grip tightened for a minute more before he released her with a noise of disgust. He stalked away down the corridor, likely looking for someone else to torment, someone he could hurt without fear of reprisal.

Sansa could not resist having the last word though, “Oh, and husband?” She called after him, “I should like to remind you that you may no more hurt my dog than you may Lady Walda’s, as your father decreed. I would not anger him if I was you.”

She let a smile play around the corners of her mouth as she listened to his bellow of rage. The anger would not simmer beneath his skin as it would on others, no, like Joffrey he would go find an immediate release for it, one which she knew she was not. And if she was lucky he would be so distracted by his anger that she would have a night of peace.

Theon was where she had left him in her chambers, curled up on a large soft cushion before the fire. His chest rose and fell slowly, and tiny snores left his lips as he slept in the safety of Sansa’s chambers. 

He looked so much better for being clean; and although she had been unable to remove the harsh metal collar around his throat, she had wrapped it in soft silken ribbons instead so that it no longer burned with cold or cut into his skin.

He stirred awake as she moved around the room, and watched her through his eyelashes as she arranged herself at a small table.

“Theon, come here.”

He blinked slowly at her command, and moved to her side, no longer skittish around her at all.

“There’s a good boy.” She praised, and watched as he shivered in delight, “I have something here for you.”

She reached for the tray of food and carefully cut the apple and bread into bite sized chunks, she didn’t have to do it, but both of them found this ritual comforting. 

Theon leaned into her side, his legs curled beneath him on the thick rug and gently took each piece of food she offered him from her hand. 

One of her hands offered food, the other caressed his hair and stroked the back of his neck, offering comforting touches. The combination of food and warmth and comfort all served to make Theon trust her, all served to make him look upon her with a devotion that could not be gained through fear. 

It was still only the preparatory stage of her plan though, she would not be content stuck with her brute of a husband. But should she have the chance to escape, to run, well she could hardly leave Theon behind, and he would need to be in the best shape she could make him before then. He would have hardly lasted ten minutes in the cold as thin as he was when she first found him. 

No, she was content for now to bide her time and wait, so that when she did run she could steal Theon away as well. 

And besides, caring for him gave her comfort, and no one could begrudge her that. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Find me on tumblr @istaricelebelasse


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